Thursday, October 31, 2013

Falling

It felt like a dangerous precipice and I was hanging over it. Here, at the very edge, became the physical manifestation of all those fears.

Don’t let go.

It screamed through my mind, don’t let go, don’t let go. Part of my wanted to push away, to claw back to a position of safety, back into control.

How did I lose my control? I was in control, powerful, having feeling that I was doing what I wanted to do, exactly where I wanted to be.

I was above.

And then strong arms were around me, comfort there, power, and then edged backwards.

My hands clasped around shoulders, and suddenly I was dangling, feeling as though I would be a thousand miles away if I drop.

Fear took hold of me, overwhelmed me and I wanted to cry out. I felt words form on my lips, wanting to tap out of the moment and call for safety. The fear of falling over the edge of that drop was too much for me, I was sure I was going to topple over onto the floor, that there was too much too hold, too much for any one other person to think they can carry. Rocking backward again, closer to the edge, I locked my legs and could feel all the muscles (which I have been overworking) tighten up, trying to find balance.

There was no balanceinstead all I had was that looming cliff of the fall. The purring in my ears, growl, acknowledgement that I am about to lose the game the same way that I already lost control, was both a pleasantness and an amplification of my own screaming internal terror. I thought the familiar litany and worked to control my fear. I am not my fear. My fear is not who I am. The chasm I feel opening and yawning before me is not the chasm I think it is.

And if I fall?

The arms tightened around me again and rocking forward I had a moment to breathe. Desperation in my arms made me want to shoot forward and find a handhold, anything to keep from being slipped backward again to be held over the rabbit hole; that deep dark yawning chasm that is the metaphorical down. I had been down so many times, willingly, unwillingly, through the dark and into that vast pit of terror: the buried things from my past, the fears, the unworthiness, the shadowlands that still whisper with voices detailing the list of my inadequacies and I wondered to myself as I took a trip down those dark halls if I ever deserved to escape. The rabbit hole was not real, not a true thing.

Yet it felt so real right then, in that moment the drop felt like a physical drop into all that fear, all that uncertainty and unsureness, as real and true as walking in the real world. I was sure I whimpered, I was sure that my fear was palpable and with it, even inside of it, even though I feel my body shaking, trembling with it, my arms coiled to flail and reach out, I just held on.

This was an act of trust that I did not think I was capable. To let go and to know that I was capable of managing myself and to know that the arms around me would not let go; this was simply a moment of driving me over, near the edge, walking along the razor to find that it did not always cut so deep or so bitter as had been anticipated.

The edge was not the beginning or the end.

I felt like I was nothing but plays on a theme.

The game played on.

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